


Shades of Gold

by starksborn



Series: The Curse that Falls on Young Lovers [3]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:52:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksborn/pseuds/starksborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boss is being plagued by nightmares about Johnny, and a strange symbolism in the form of the color gold that they can't quite figure out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Gold

     Angel's eyes are like two pools of molten gold; shining and almost glowing in the light, enticing and just waiting to drown you in their heat. They're like a trap to be sprung, a promise of a beautiful death within; a death so warm and soothing you walk into it willingly. 

     The Boss doesn't notice that they've spaced out and that Angel's words are falling on deaf ears. They don't notice the way they've tilted their head, mouth falling open a little as they explore the world behind his eyes. They don't know how it took this many weeks of training with him to see how gorgeous his eyes are. They're so entranced that they don't notice when those eyes narrow a little and fill with annoyance, not until Angel leans forward and claps his hands together in front of their face and snaps them out of their trance. 

     “You're not even listening to me,” he says. The Boss blinks a little and rubs at their eyes.

     “No, sorry,” they say, voice a bit hoarse and groggy sounding, “I haven't slept in a couple days and I just kinda spaced out." Angel doesn't seem pleased by their excuse, and he crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at them. 

     “Angel, man you're killing me here,” the Boss groans and looks back up at him. “Look, Zimos has had me out every night this week doing escort for his girls since no one else will do it. I'm fucking beat, can I just take a few days off from this training thing?” Angel's frown deepens at the request, and they're half expecting him to say no and start lecturing them. They prepare for another argument about their seriousness, and they're in no mood to for Angel to berate them some more.

     “All right,” he says instead, dropping his arms down by his sides.

     “Wait, really?” Boss asks, voice laced with surprise.

     “You look like hell,” Angel says. “I noticed it when you came in, and it's showing in your performance. It does no good to train so hard you run yourself into the ground. Take a few days, get some sleep. Come back when you're fresh.” 

     They feel like the weight of the world has been lifted, and they can't help but relax a little. Between Angel's training during the day, taking down gang operations and doing escort work for Zimos at night, the Boss has barely had time to themself in a good week, and less time to sleep or eat. It's starting to wear on them. The thought of having to drag their ass out of bed in the morning again tomorrow to come back and be Angel's punching bag for the day has been filling them with dread.

     “Thanks, Angel,” they say. “Really, I appreciate it.”

     “Don't think on it too much,” he says, reaching for a bottle of water. “You can't keep your promise of giving me Killbane's head if I kill you in training.” 

     The Boss shakes their head in response and heads down to the garage. Their gray Bootlegger is waiting for them, and the lights flicker on when they unlock the door. The engine growls to life and they pull out of the garage, exiting into the back parking lot of the gym and waiting for a chance to pull into traffic. 

     They spend the entire drive back to Saints HQ thinking about Angel's golden eyes, and the way they glitter in the sunlight.  
  
     Pierce is the only one at the penthouse when the Boss gets back, and they're a little thankful for that. It seems like every time they turn around lately there's someone else needing or wanting something from them. Their time is just being bought and used up without much pause, and they're not sure what their response would have been if they'd come home this tired to someone else asking for a favor. 

     They find Pierce in the kitchen, rooting around in the fridge and the cupboards and making himself some lunch. He catches sight of the Boss when they round the corner and seems surprised at them being home. 

     “Hey,” he says. “Angel let you off the hook early or something? What, the zoo needed the tiger back?”

     “Nah,” they say, “I asked for a few days off. Zimos is running me ragged with this escort bullshit.” 

     “And he let you take time off from training?” Pierce lets out a low whistle, pausing to drop some cheese on a sandwich. “Damn, I'm surprised. Hell must be freezing over.” 

     The Boss chuckles a little and walks over to the bar to grab a glass.

     "Yeah honestly, I was expecting another fight," they say, dropping some ice into the glass and reaching for a bottle of vodka.

     "Wait, _another_ fight?" Pierce frowns a little, taking a seat on a bar stool and setting his plate down in front of him. "You guys been butting heads or something?" 

     "Kinda?" Boss shrugs a little, taking a sip of their drink and setting it down. "He doesn't think I'm taking training seriously. We had a bit of a tiff about it the other week, right before the party over the weekend. It's no big deal, we just kinda flow differently and it's causing some snags."

     "You gonna work it out though, right?" It almost sounds like there's concern in Pierce's voice. "I mean, the whole plan for taking down Killbane is kind of on him, I'd hate for us to look like some damn fools because Angel didn't have his shit together." 

     "Yeah, no we just gotta get used to each other, is all," Boss says. "I don't think Angel's trusted any one in a long time, it's gonna take him a while to...fuck, I don't know; like me enough to stop waiting on a knife in his back." 

     "I don't know man," Pierce says, "I think he likes you plenty." The Boss seems to pause at that and furrow their eyebrows. 

     "What?" 

     Pierce just shrugs a little. 

     "You mean you haven't noticed how he was making eyes at you at the party the other night?" he asks. "Come on, you can't be that oblivious."

     “What the fuck are you trying to get at, Pierce?” Boss asks, still frowning. 

     “I'm not getting at anything it's just something I noticed,” he says. “You've both been spending a lot of time together lately. I dunno, maybe there's like a schoolyard crush thing goin' on."

     "Schoolyard crush?" Now the Boss has just got one eyebrow quirked over the rim of their sunglasses. "Pierce we're all adults here, not kids on a school yard. I'm pretty sure if Angel or I had some sort of feelings for each other we'd fucking notice."

     "Who said anything about _you_ having the hots for _him_?" Pierce is grinning a little now. "I was talkin' about the way he was watching your ass during our pool game, but okay." 

     That seems to fluster the Boss a little, as they choke on their drink and spend a full minute coughing vodka out of their lungs. Pierce watches with amusement and digs into his sandwich, and for a few minutes the only sound filling the penthouse is the Boss's coughing fit and the crunching of lettuce. When they finally manage to get their lungs clear, they abandon the drink entirely and return to scowling at Pierce. 

     "Jesus christ, Pierce," they say. "We've known the guy like, what, a month? _Maybe_?" 

     Pierce holds his hands up defensively and shrugs, putting more food _in_ his mouth instead of talking _out_ of it.

     "You know," the Boss says, "this is just like the time you kept trying to tell me and Johnny we were hot for each other."

     "And I was fucking right though, wasn't I?" Pierce asks. "You and Johnny woulda spent years beating around the fuckin' bush and never actually doing anything if I hadn't played goddamn cupid with you." 

     It's a good thing the Boss doesn't blush easily, because otherwise being reminded of that fact would have caused them to. Pierce is right, there was a period of time after Aisha's death that was almost awkward for everyone. The Boss had had feelings for Johnny for a long time, but they never thought much of it because they knew how much he loved Aisha. Her death seemed to break something inside him, and no matter the situation the Boss couldn't shake the thought that trying to talk to Johnny about their own feelings towards him was too much like trying to take Aisha's place. 

     It wasn't until Pierce started nudging them on that they were able to finally approach Johnny. 

     "That was one fuckin' time, Pierce," the Boss mumbles. "You knew the history between me and Johnny, that's the only reason your meddling didn't end terribly." 

     "Well, yeah," Pierce says. "But I also knew how Johnny felt, too. I know what it means when two people are giving each other looks and finding excuses to be alone together." 

     "Is that what you think is going on now?" 

     Pierce doesn't say anything in response, he just shrugs and takes another bite of his sandwich. It sparks an ire within the Boss, and suddenly they don't find this conversation so funny.

     "Pierce Angel is fucking training me," they say. "Of course we're spending a lot of time alone, he's helping me prepare for this fucking Killbane thing." 

     "Uh-huh," he says around a mouthful of food.

     "You think I enjoy letting him beat the hell out of me for hours on end?" Even through the dark lenses on their sunglasses, Pierce can feel how incredulously they're staring at him.

     "I mean, I kinda figured if you did that's your business," he says. "You know what I mean?"

     "Okay, yeah, this conversation is over now!" The Boss rubs at their temple a little and stalks away from the bar, hitting the stairs and making to their bedroom. They shut their door behind them and let out a deep sigh, leaning against the wall and taking their glasses off. They can't believe what Pierce is suggesting, that there's some sort of awkward crush going on between them and Angel. 

     Even so, his comments do stir something. Mostly, feelings about Johnny. Johnny's death has been so sudden and the Saints have been so busy since hitting Steelport that the Boss hasn't really had time to think about it. Killbane ruined Johnny's funeral, robbing them of the chance to formally say goodbye to him and in a way they feel like because of that there's never going to be any closure. They told themself they were going to put it behind them after the funeral, and they couldn't even get that chance. 

     Their relationship with Johnny wasn't always perfect, the two of them had their share of arguments and their separate stubborn streaks led to many extended periods of not speaking, but even still the Boss knew that they could count on Johnny no matter what. He was their backup, always.

     He was, for all purposes their other half. 

     His absence is so palpable in every thing the Boss tries to do, and they don't know what to do about it. They're not in a position that they can take time off and mourn him, and even if they were, that's just not how they're wired to deal with this kind of a situation. Someone you care about dies? You suck it up and move on. You continue to work, and you get the job done. They have responsibilities to people and things greater than themselves, they don't just get to sit around and wallow in self pity and sadness.

     That's what it means to be a Saint, that's what it means to be the _leader_ of the Saints. 

     The Boss groans, running a hand over their face and makes for the bathroom, pulling their jacket off and tossing it over the back of the toilet tank. They reach an arm in the shower and turn it on, letting the water heat up and leaning on the sink to inspect themself in the mirror.

     "You look tired,” they say to their reflection. “You need a few days out of the gym, you really do. Be sure to thank Angel again for being understanding.” They turn away from the mirror and strip the rest of their clothes off, leaving the bathroom haphazardly covered in purple and black items and proceeding to run the shower until the hot water gives out. They stay in the cold downpour for another few minutes before finally turning the valve off and stepping back out. 

     The Boss wraps up in a towel and makes their way to their bed, collapsing face first into the mattress and closing their eyes. They're just gonna rest for a minute, they think and they end up falling asleep almost instantly. They have vivid, stressful dreams full of dead friends and fresh blood, and cries for help providing a haunting soundtrack. 

     At one point they dream of fire. Two bubbling pools of yellow-gold fire beckoning them forward, and a voice whispering promises of an end to the carnage. The voice is soft and smooth, but deep and dizzying and in their haze they're convinced it's Johnny, and are quick to give in to it's whims. 

     They jerk themself awake just as they start to drown in molten gold, waking up on their back tangled in the still damp bath towel and covered in a cold sweat. It takes them a few minutes to catch their breath, and they stare almost vacantly out the bedroom windows as they do, watching as the sun sinks below the skyline of Steelport.

     The Boss is back on the street within hours of getting up. Taking time off from Angel's gym just serves to give them more time to help other Saints. They spend most of the night helping Pierce and Zimos with trafficking runs, peddling merchandise and dirty magazines and narrowly escaping the Morningstar and the Luchadores. Their next day off they spend helping Kinzie launch cyber attacks against the Deckers, and they end up running a few escorts for Zimos late that night. By the time they get back to the penthouse, they're so tired they don't even bother to eat or shower before passing out in bed. 

     The dreams persist again, and they find themself wading through more corpses. Johnny's voice catches their ear again, this time alternating between screaming for help and angrily asking why he was left to die. Eventually they find that fire again, burning so brightly and radiating a heat that is scalding and comforting at the same time. Johnny stalks them from the shadows, using all of their secrets he's been privy to against them, reading them for a sham and a failure. It never occurs to them to reason with him, or beg him to stop. They're convinced that not only is he right in everything he's saying, but he's justified. He's dead because of them, because they couldn't save him. They let him die and he is angry about it and they're going to allow him be angry. 

     The Boss isn't one to admit to fear, but this ghoulish ghost of Johnny causes a measure of it anyway. He knows all their secrets, all their hidden weaknesses and he's using it all against them in ways the real Johnny always promised he never would. The guilt they can't stop feeling about him being dead makes them think that this is what they deserve; that this tattered fragment of Johnny is allowed to do this, and that they must suffer for what they've done. 

     The voice from the fire is speaking as well, once again whispering sweet promises into their ears and attempting to pull them in and it's now that they realize it's not Johnny at all. Johnny can't be in both places, he can't be condemning them and offering them salvation at the same time. 

     Finally, the voices all become to much and the Boss just lets go. They fall over the edge of the steaming pools and into the gold and let the heat consume them. It burns Johnny's ghost and his memory, searing away the grotesque remains of him haunting their mind and leaving behind the smell of diesel fuel and the smoky night time air of Steelport.

     They wake up that morning covered in sweat, the bed covers sticking to their skin and a pounding headache at the base of their skull. The smell of fuel is still strong in their nose and they can't help but wonder how a dream can be so vivid even the smells can carry over. They push the blankets down and swing their legs over the side of the bed, and cup their head in their hands. 

     “Fuck, me,” they groan, looking over at the clock. It's just after five in the morning, and the sun is still hours away from rising. They fall back onto their pillow, staring up at the dark ceiling for a while and wondering if sleep is going to find them again.

     When it becomes obvious it's not, they take a quick shower to clear their head and throw on some clothes before heading to the garage. They start their Bootlegger and make the short trip to Angel's gym, pulling in around the back and letting the garage door fall shut behind them. When they round the corner at the top of the stairs, they find Angel sitting on his bed in pajamas, balancing a bowl of oatmeal on his knees and flipping through TV channels with his free hand. He starts a little when he looks up and sees the Boss, nearly spilling his breakfast and dropping the TV remote. 

     The Boss stops short, offering a bit of a nervous grin.

     “Sorry,” they say. “I somehow keep forgetting you sleep back here.”

     “You're early,” he says. He stands up and quickly downs a few spoonful of oatmeal before setting the bowl down on top the microwave. “I wasn't expecting you before, well, noon.” The Boss just shrugs in response. 

     “I was awake, and I figured I might as well get on with it,” they say. Really, the thought of being Angel's punching bag is almost comforting. At least if they're focused on Angel beating the hell out of them, they can't think about Johnny's vengeful ghost. 

     “Works for me,” Angel says. “Sooner we get moving the sooner I can let you go to for the day.” 

     “I'm gonna head out there, let you get dressed,” the Boss says. “Unless sweat pants are your new thing now.” Angel glances down at himself and then back up.

     "Ah, no," he says. "It's not." 

     The Boss just smirks at him a little, and heads down the hall and out the doors to the main room of the gym. Angel hasn't even turned the lights on yet and the only illumination is peeking in the windows high up in the ceiling from the street lights and neon signs outside. It bounces off the old slot machines and casts long shadows on the empty gym, and the Boss feels their way around closer to Angel's run down ring. 

     They hop up on a poker table and lean back, staring up at the windows and thinking about these new dreams they're being plagued by. Surely they _mean_ something but so far they can't figure out what. It's obvious it's some sort of manifestation of their guilt about Johnny's death, but the rest of it is just so bizarre and stress inducing they don't know where to start with it.

     They're still lost in thought when the lights suddenly click on, followed by music coming through the speakers Angel has situated around the room. They're blinking a little in the brightness when he makes his way out, still shrugging into his hoodie and zipping it up. He gets to the center of the ring and stops, putting his hands on his hips and frowning at the Boss. 

     "I thought I gave you time off to get healthy," he says. "You don't look any better than you did the other day. You look worse, actually."

     "There was work to be done," they say.

     "There's always work to be done," Angel says, "but sometimes it has to go on a back burner."

     "I can't micromanage a _gang war_ , Angel," Boss says. They want to snap at him, but they just sound incredibly tired when they speak. 

     "Don't you have people for that?" he asks. 

     "Honestly? No, I don't." Now there _is_ anger seeping into their voice. "I had a _person_ for that, once, but he's fucking dead now I guess it's up to me." Angel blinks a little in surprise at the tone in their voice, and takes half a step back. The Boss realizes how nasty they just sounded and and their shoulders drop a little as they reach up to rub at their eyes. 

     "Sorry," they mumble through their fingers. "This isn't your fault, I shouldn't be taking it out on you." 

     Angel says nothing for a minute, and even with the music echoing around them the gym suddenly seems eerily quiet. When he finally speaks he does so a tad slowly, as if he's trying to make it obvious he's not bucking for a fight. 

     "Are you...okay?" he asks, tilting his head a little.

     "I'm in the middle of a gang war and my boyfriend just fucking died, what do you think the answer to that is?" The Boss is really trying not to be mean to him, but no matter how they form the words it all comes out laced and dripping with anger and spite. Angel seems to soften a little at it though by the way he drops his arms down by his sides.

     "I guess that was a stupid question, huh?" 

     "Just a little." The Boss runs a hand through their hair, letting their fingers work out some tangles and leans back on the table to look up at the vaulted windows above them. "What if this doesn't work? Against Killbane, I mean."

     "I thought we already had this discussion?" Angel's frowning now. 

     "Yeah we did," Boss says. "But I mean. Are we sure this is the right way to go?" 

     "I know Killbane," he says. "I know this is the right way." Boss turns their attention from the windows and back to Angel. 

     "Are we really sure about that though?" Catching the expression crossing his face, they sit up straighter on the table and raise a hand defensively. "You haven't exactly been around him in a while, is all I'm saying." 

     Angel opens his mouth to respond, and the Boss is quick to cut him off. 

     "Say we beat him at Murderbrawl," they continue. "We just fucking decimate him, take off with his mask and leave him. What if that just pisses him off? I can't shake the feeling he's not really putting his all into this turf war. The man cares more about ratings than he does anything else and if he ruins us too early on the streets it leaves him nothing to promote in the ring. But if we beat him in the ring, what's stopping him from turning around and putting all his new free time and energy on beating us in the streets?" 

     "He wont," Angel says, and the Boss just groans. 

     "You know you keep fucking saying that but I have yet to hear a _why_ , Angel," they say. 

     "Do you know the history of the Luchadores?" he asks. "Or how they ended up as part of the Syndicate?" 

     "Uh...no, actually." 

     "That was all _me_ ," he says. "Eddie and I came back to Steelport when we started getting real big as a tag team. It was his idea to start the Luchadores, but the problem was the Syndicate was already here. Loren didn't like us rolling up into his city and starting a business, and he made that very well known." 

     Angel starts pacing as he talks, walking back and forth in front of his ring.

     "Loren offered us a couple of nice deals, and Eddie didn't want to take them. He didn't understand how big the Syndicate already was, even if it was just the Morningstar back then. He thought we should play ball on our own, make a big show of it and just flaunt our muscles and look threatening but he didn't understand that wasn't an option. Loren would have annihilated us and left us nothing if I hadn't gone behind Eddie's back and made a deal with him. The Luchadores became part of the Syndicate pretty much over night. 

     "When Eddie found out, he blew a goddamn gasket, accused me of _selling out_. I tried to explain to him we didn't have a choice in the matter if we liked being able to breath through our fucking mouths, but he never did get it. He finally stopped complaining and went with it, and if you asked him today he'll say it was all him that made the Luchadores appealing to Loren but still." 

     He stops pacing and comes to a stop in front of the Boss. 

     "My point is that Eddie just doesn't have the head for this kind of work," he says. "He likes to think he does, but he doesn't. When we beat him at Murderbrawl he's going to be so focused on that he wont think to come after us on the street. I'll even bet money he tries to skip town and just abandons the Luchadores entirely." 

     The Boss nods their head at him and rubs at their chin, thinking over what he's said. 

     "So it's what I thought, then," they say. "Killbane's an entertainer first and foremost."

     "Exactly."  

     "Okay, I'll take your word for it," they say. "I mean you're the one that's got history with the guy. If you're wrong you owe me a steak dinner, though." 

     "If I'm right, I'll still buy you a steak dinner," Angel says, and the Boss grins at him. 

     "I might take you up on that, mister." 

     "Of course I'll have to borrow the money for it from you," he adds. "Washed up wrestlers don't make much these days." 

     "I'll take it out of your pay, don't worry," Boss says. Angel raises an eyebrow at that. 

     "I get paid now?" he asks. "Thats news to me. All these weeks and I thought this was a charity type of thing I've been doing." 

     "Well I mean, you're free to continue helping us just out of the pure goodness of your heart, you know." Angel just snorts at them and shakes his head and gestures for them to get off the table. 

     "We've been talking long enough," he says. "You've got training to do." 

     "You're killin' me slowly, man," the Boss says as they slide off the table. Angel just shrugs his shoulders and takes the couple steps into the center of his ring, waiting for them to join him and cracking his knuckles. 

     They do so only slightly reluctantly.


End file.
